The woman presenter said that hundreds of police were on their way to protect the TV station and its staff. More and more demonstrators were taking up their positions, armed with placards, signs, and banners. It was uncertain whether they would confine themselves to this noisy but nonviolent expression of opinion.
A police spokesman called it an explosive situation. What could be done to prevent the situation from escalating? he was asked. All he could think of, he replied, was that the station should refrain from televising the tape. He was there to protect the studio, but he ventured to point out that he himself was the father of two children and would like to take this opportunity to send his condolences to Austria. He fully understood the demonstrators’ emotions. Things like this should not be shown on television — that, at least, was his personal opinion. There were people employed by the Austrian police who worried him. Far be it for him to prejudge his Austrian counterparts, but only a policeman could have leaked the video to the TV station.
The woman interviewer put her hand to her earpiece. She nodded and said, “More news just in.” In view of the mass protests, the broadcaster had agreed to transmit the video at an hour when children were in bed.
Or up a tree or under it, the policeman interjected in a strident voice.
The interviewer went on to say that it had been agreed to transmit the program at 11:30 p.m. In spite of the demonstrations, there was no discernible reason why the transmission should be dispensed with altogether. Certain matters escaped human comprehension; they cried out for pictures.
The policeman shrugged his shoulders. He could offer no guarantees, he repeated several times; the crowd was very heated.
Heinrich clapped his hands. Half past eleven, then! he said.
Eva rose and said she would make supper. My partner followed her into the kitchen. Their argument over whether my partner, being a guest, was entitled to help make the sauce — after all, she said, she had helped Eva the day before — was audible in the living room.
Heinrich searched for other television channels reporting on the murders. There was no more news for a while. Then Austrian television announced in a ticker at the foot of the screen that the federal president intended to address the nation during the News in Pictures program at 7:30 p.m. Moreover, the evening program had been changed. In view of the occasion, the Easter Vigil service in St. Stephen’s Cathedral would be televised at 10:00 p.m.
Heinrich went into the kitchen to inform the two women. My partner came hurrying into the living room and asked if it were true the federal president would be speaking. I confirmed this. Heinrich, who had come in behind my partner, smiled and called it typical of the man. He made some more derogatory remarks about our head of state and was unsparing with his unkind comments on Austrian Broadcasting’s programmers, who were obviously dominated by clerics. It was outrageous of them to transmit Catholic religious services; what he’d like best would be to convert to Islam or Buddhism in protest. Remarking that he felt tremendously overwrought, he stretched out on the sofa.
My partner flitted back into the kitchen in her woolen stockings.
Under the ticker headline “Police cordon off wide area,” Heinrich found: “A sizable contingent of police and paramilitaries is currently cordoning off the area around the crime scene. From evidence that cannot be made public, it is suspected that, despite his obviously temporary presence in the Kaiserwald autobahn service area, the perpetrator has not quit the district. A suspicious car or suspicious license number has been identified.”
Heinrich asked me if I thought this possible. If he were the killer, he said, he wouldn’t have hung around. I pointed out that the man might be a local inhabitant. Also in favor of this was the fact that the victims belonged to the family of a locally prominent individual — namely, the fire chief. It might have been an act of revenge, I said. Heinrich said I had a point.
For fun, he concocted a scenario in which a farmer whose house had caught fire, only to be extinguished too late, had avenged himself in this way. I asked if he was thinking of the farmer who had been dead for two decades and whose gutted house we had visited the day before. Heinrich burst out laughing. Then, wiping the smile off his face, he said the affair was really too serious to joke about. I agreed. He turned off the television.
News in Pictures wasn’t on for a while yet, he said, so would I care to play a game of table tennis with him? I agreed. Having informed the womenfolk of our decision, we carried our drinks — beer in Heinrich’s case, apple juice in mine — up to the table tennis room on the second floor. We had to turn on the light because the windows on the second floor of the Stubenrauchs’ house were smaller than those on the first.
As I had the night before, I found while climbing the stairs that the smell of mildew permeating the whole of the Stubenrauchs’ home (probably attributable to the building’s age and poor insulation) was stronger in the table tennis room than in the bedrooms or downstairs. This did not, however, inhibit us from playing several games. Although variable, their outcome eventually proved beyond doubt that Heinrich’s proficiency at table tennis was superior to my own. He beat me 21:12, 23:25, 21:12, 21:13. It was then time to go downstairs again so as not to miss the news.
As we made our way along the passage, my partner called from the kitchen that we were just in time, the meal would be served in a few minutes. Before complying with Eva’s request to set the table, Heinrich said he must shut up the house first; he had no wish to be disturbed by an illicit invasion of cats during the broadcast or the meal.
While he was shutting every imaginable form of access, I went into the kitchen and complimented Eva on the favorable culinary aroma pervading the house. Eva replied that she was glad and hoped the meal would taste as good as it smelled.
Having shut the cats out, Heinrich opened a wooden kitchen cabinet some six feet high and three wide containing tableware. Having taken out four plates, he pulled open a drawer and removed cutlery and napkins. These he conveyed to the living room.
I inquired if there was any possibility of making myself useful. Eva handed me a salad bowl, which I carried into the living room and deposited in the center of the table. The bowl contained corn and chicory salad with sliced radishes, chives, shaved gherkins, and pumpkinseed oil and vinegar. I performed my task promptly.
After that, I received permission to wait in an armchair in the living room for the meal to be served. Heinrich had lit a cigarette. My partner reproved him, saying that there was too little time before supper to smoke a whole cigarette. He replied that he would stub it out as soon as the food was on the table. This occurred soon afterward.
Eva put two casseroles on the table, one containing spaghetti, the other Bolognese sauce. She filled each plate in turn, first with spaghetti, then with sauce. Last of all, she sprinkled them with Parmesan cheese. We wished each other bon appétit.
Scarcely had we eaten a few mouthfuls when the News in Pictures program began, accompanied by even more dramatic background music than usual. With the exception of the weather and sports, all the headlines and forthcoming reports related to the murders in West Styria. The federal president was shown, captioned: “President.” A helicopter shot of the victims’ hometown: “Noose around Killer Tightens.” Pictures of weeping men and women: “Horror-struck.” Then the presenter introduced the program. All the facts were recapitulated.